Edge of Effectiveness
by NephilimEQ
Summary: Father Mulcahy has never felt very effective, but finally has a prayer answered in the form of a young Major looking for spiritual guidance...and maybe more? PLEASE READ & REVIEW! I love my reviewers.
1. Chapter 1

**Season 7, Episode 15, "Dear Sis"**

"_**You know, I used to coach boxing at the CYO…I told my boys it built character."**_

"_**Father, why don't you stop punching yourself on the chin. Pick on somebody your own size."**_

"_**But I'm Christ's representative; "suffer the little children to come unto me", "do unto others"…I'm not just supposed to say that stuff, I'm supposed to **_**do **_**it."**_

"_**All you're supposed to do is the best you can."**_

"_**Some best."**_

"_**Best is best…Look, suppose you were sitting here now and someone who had done his best was feeling lousy about it. You'd let them off the hook, wouldn't you?"**_

"_**Sure, I would. And, if the hook didn't work, I'd probably try an uppercut."**_

"_**Father, get off your back."**_

"_**Ah…it isn't **_**just **_**that. I don't seem to make a difference here. I hang around on the edge of effectiveness. And when I do step in, I **_**really **_**step in…"**_

"_**Look, this place had made us all nuts, why should you be any different? We don't sleep, we don't eat, and every day a truck comes in and lays a bunch of bleeding bodies on the ground. Okay, so you hit someone. We have to stand here and watch so much misery we're lucky we all don't join hands and walk into a chopper blade." Pause. "Look, I've gotta go inside and reduce a little suffering."**_

"_**Me, too. I'll go sob myself to sleep."**_

* * *

><p><span><strong>Edge of Effectiveness<strong>

**1**

Father Mulcahy worried his hat in his hands, bending the brim of it more than he should as he stared off into the distance. After a Mass that morning that had, as always, only had one person in attendance (himself), he had gone for a walk to clear his head and talk to the man upstairs, but felt even more discouraged than normal.

His faith was being tried, and he needed clarity, so, as he usually did, he went to nature to feel closer to Him.

He made his way over to one of the hillsides and sat down beneath a tree, putting his hat on the ground next to him, and propped his arms on his knees.

"Oh, Lord…I feel a bit lost right now. If it isn't too much trouble, do you think you might give me a nudge in the right direction?" he asked out loud, looking up at the surprisingly clear sky.

Of course he heard no booming voice, or, for that matter, no whispering voice, but it still felt good to ask. He cast his gaze back towards the camp and watched everyone going back and forth between the tents of various sizes and shapes and he wondered just where he fit into the cogs of the M.A.S.H 4077 wheel. Everyone seemed to have a place where they fit in and comfortably rested, but he felt like one of those extra gears that was on the edge that wasn't really necessary, but was there for the fact that there was no other place to put it.

It was an unsettling feeling and he tried to shrug it off as best as he could.

He looked back up at the sky.

"And, if not a nudge, then just one parishioner or confession, perhaps? I hope it's not too much to ask."

He absently made the sign of the cross and looked back over the compound.

He had made several friends, but none that he could go to with the problems that he had. He didn't have anything that needed to be set or operated on; a spirit was something that needed an entirely different touch, and the only person that he could go to with his problems was Him, so he did. He'd been doing it more often, recently, and he silently hoped that the Lord wasn't getting tired of hearing his prayers over and over again, mostly for the same thing. Someone else to talk to.

The Father was slightly worried that his prayer might be slightly insulting to the Lord, but at the same time he knew that it wasn't just someone to talk to that he wanted…what he truly was looking for was a friend. And not just someone who liked him, or respected him, as most of the camp did, but someone who had a similar background as him.

He picked up his hat and, once again, worried it in his hands, looking at the area surrounding the compound. In his mind's eye, he imagined what the area must have looked like before it had been shelled and attacked, and he could see something quite beautiful and serene. Almost holy, even, but amidst the scarring of the ground and the barrenness of the hills, it was now a sight that only brought war to mind and it saddened him. What he would give to know all of the answers and to help find an end to this war.

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard a sound of an engine down in the compound, and he looked down and saw a jeep pull up with a young woman inside.

_Ah_, he thought to himself. _That must be the new surgeon…Major Camden._

At seeing that she had arrived, he stood up and brushed the dirt from his pants and then made his way down the hillside.

It didn't do to dawdle.

* * *

><p>Major Elizabeth Camden stepped off of the jeep at the M.A.S.H. 4077, dusting off her uniform with one hand as she grabbed her bag with the other. Looking up, she saw a young man with round glasses approach; hand already out to take her bag.<p>

"Corporal O'Reilly, ma'am. Let me show you to your tent, ma'am."

She nodded.

"Thank you, Corporal," she said, her light British accent revealing her Oxford education.

As soon as she was in her tent, she slipped out of the brown monstrosity that the army called a uniform, and into her green and khaki fatigues. It may have been horrible to any other woman to bear, being bereft of fitted clothes and color, but she loved the feel of plain cotton and loose canvas; it reminded her of her days as an army brat traveling the world with her father. She sat down on her cot and pulled on her boots, tying the laces with such adeptness and ease that anyone watching would have known in an instant that she bled army green, and had never known the red blood of a civilian life.

As soon as she had put her other uniform away, and had hastily pulled back her previously perfectly coiffed hair into a messy ponytail, she reached for a thick, brown package that lay snug between her fatigues and her intimates in her bag and put it on the small desk.

Quickly, with a haste that was almost comical, she opened it up and pulled out all of her effects.

A heavy, leather-bound Bible, a beautiful wooden cross, an elegant and obviously antique rosary, and a smaller cross on a plain, surgical steel chain all came out of the package, and she smiled as she saw them.

With reverence, she placed the Bible on the right hand side of her desk, her fingers lingering over the worn leather, a smile appearing on the corner of her mouth as she reluctantly let her hand slip from its' comforting presence. She then reached for her necklace and slipped the chain over her head, letting out a sigh of relief as she felt the warm weight of the cross against her breast. Her fingers moved to it and slipped the small cross under her shirt, not wanting to advertise to the camp her denomination.

The Major then looked around the tent and smiled when she saw one of the wooden posts was directly behind her bed, and she pulled a small tool kit from her bag and lightly hammered in a nail, on which she placed her wooden cross.

She then grabbed her rosary and slipped it into her pocket.

Finally, after days being without them, she felt secure. Feeling the familiar objects back in her grasp made her feel secure once more.

Now, she only had to see the chaplain.

There was suddenly a knock at her door, so she quickly turned and put the last object in the brown paper package back into its hiding place in her luggage and then said, "Enter." The door opened revealing a man in his late sixties, and as soon as she saw the pins on his shoulder she straightened up and saluted.

"Colonel Potter."

He nodded at her.

"At ease, Major Camden. Good to see that you've settled in. I've read your file and I suspect you'd like to see Pre Op," he said, clasping his hands behind his back and giving her a steady look. "It seems your specialty is nearly everything. General Clayton says that you're one of the best surgeons that's ever been in the Service."

Elizabeth gave him a faint nod.

"According to my test scores, Colonel, I'm the best one in at least three countries. But, if it's alright with you, I'd rather get some food. I'm famished."

He nodded and gave her a look that wasn't as stern as the one he had given her previously. From the way that he held himself, she knew that he had once been in cavalry.

Then he said, "Then to the Mess tent, it is."

"Yes, please," she said, giving him a faint smile, and he smiled in return.

He then nodded again and she followed him out of the tent, letting out an inaudible sigh as the Korean air hit her skin, a breeze brushing over the compound. No one would ever understand just how beautiful the country really was. She had known it before it was war torn. Elizabeth had spent seven years there, off and on, when she was younger, and had spent countless days exploring the countryside and pretending to be the queen of some faraway land.

She looked up at the hill and saw how barren it had become due to the drought, and she felt a wave of memory rush over her…

"_Daddy? Why are all of the hills brown?" He looked down at her and said, "Because there hasn't been rain for a long while, but don't worry, sweet pea. It should rain, soon. See over there?" She could see the sky darkening just over the ridge. She nodded. "That's rain coming from the north. It'll be here in no time." She looked up at her dad and grabbed his large hand with her small seven-year-old-one. "How soon?" He smiled down at her. "Sooner than a sparrow in a spigot," he said nonsensically, and she smiled…_

"Sooner than a sparrow in a spigot," she said to herself, turning her eyes away from the ridge and following the Colonel into the Mess tent.

"What's that?" asked the Colonel, and she shook her head and replied, "Nothing. Just…talking to myself…"

He nodded, and as they stepped into the line he asked, "So, what's your poison?"

She looked at the food and smiled. Ah, army food. She was more than familiar with it and, unlike most other people, the taste of it brought back only good memories of tagging along with her father as he inspected M.A.S.H. units

"Some of everything, of course," she said with a smile.

"Brave words for a young woman of your age," said a voice behind her, and she turned to see a man who towered over her petite frame with black hair and a look in his eye that seemed too devious for its own good. "You're too young to die," he added, a lilt in his voice.

"Major," said Colonel Potter, introducing her, "This is Captain Benjamin Pierce, our head surgeon. Captain, this is Major Elizabeth Camden, a surgeon sent from HQ to see how our outfit works."

She nodded and said, "I'd shake your hand, Captain, but both of mine are busy at the moment." She tapped her fingers on her tray, which was still empty, and then abruptly turned and motioned with her tray towards the server, and it was soon was filled with several shades of varying textures of glop.

He followed behind her and muttered, "Suicide by indigestion it is, then."

A small smile appeared on the corner of her mouth, but she didn't let him see it, and instead moved to go sit at a table on her own, but Captain Pierce followed her, as did the Colonel.

Not wanting to appear rude, but also wanting her space, she turned and said, "Thank you for being so hospitable, but when it comes to dining, I _do_ prefer to eat on my own. It's nothing against the two of you," she said, absently placing a hand on the Captain's arm, not seeing his eyes light up at the contact, "It's just…it's just how I am."

She could see Captain Pierce about to protest, but then the Colonel nodded and answered for the both of them.

"Of course, Major. That's fine. If you change your mind, we'll be right over there," he finished, pointing at a table just opposite hers.

She nodded.

"Thank you, Colonel. Captain."

She sat down, alone, and let out a sigh of relief as they walked over to the other table. She looked around and, seeing everyone else focused on their food, she pulled her cross from under her shirt and wrapped her fingers around it, closing her eyes, and saying a small prayer, and then she slipped it back under her shirt and began to eat.

* * *

><p><strong>Part 1?**


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

Father Mulcahy stepped into the Mess tent, bypassing everyone in line for food, heading for the coffee, and then looked over and saw the new Major sitting all by herself…and he saw that she was praying, her fingers wrapped around a small cross.

She then opened her eyes and hastily slipped the cross back under her shirt and then began to eat.

Curious, he stepped over to her table and sat down across from her.

"Hello, Major Camden. How are you today?"

Without looking up, she snapped out, "I prefer to eat alone, please. So, if you could _not_ sit here, I would be most grateful…"

Feeling a bit affronted at her abrupt and almost cold manner, he simply nodded and started to rise from the bench and said, "Alright, if that is what you wish, Major, then I will leave. However, if you wish to talk, or to simply have some company, my name is Father Mulcahy, and I'll just be over-"

Her eyes suddenly snapped up from her food and she cut him off by saying, "Oh my goodness, I didn't know that I was talking to you, Father! My goodness, my father would never forgive me if he knew that I had just been so rude to a chaplain! Please, sit," she added, motioning to the bench beneath him.

He did and gave her a small smile.

"It's alright, Major. You didn't know who I was, after all," he reassured her, but she shook her head.

"No, it's not alright. Had I simply looked up from my food then I would have seen," she said, making a motion towards the collar on his neck.

He smiled.

"It's perfectly alright, Major."

She shook her head a second time, obviously upset with herself for having offended the camp chaplain, and then said, "Looks like I'll be having to add being rude to a chaplain onto my confession. Not that it's already long enough," she absently added.

He looked at her in surprise.

"You're…you're Catholic?"

She nodded.

"Yes. All my life, actually." He gave her an odd look, and she quickly clarified, immediately figuring out what was bothering him. "My father's American, and so am I, actually. My accent is from years of study at Oxford University, but I was born and raised mostly in America, a Catholic all of my life. No Church of England in my blood."

A reassured smile appeared on his face.

"Oh, yes…well, I couldn't help but wonder."

Elizabeth nodded.

"Yes, and I don't blame you." She then absently reached for her cross, ignoring her food, and the Father smiled. Then she asked, "Have you already done Mass today? I was traveling, you see, and it's been so long since I've had a proper one, so I was just wondering if…"

Without him having to say a word, she let out a long disappointed sigh.

"You have, haven't you."

Feeling her disappointment, he gave her a sad nod.

"Yes, I have. However, no one showed…I think the Lord would understand if I gave two in one day because _one_ sheep in his flock was in need," he said, giving her a sly look and she let out a small laugh which delighted him to hear.

"Thank you, Father," she said, reaching across with her other hand and settling it over his where it rested on the table. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

He simply nodded and gave a pointed look upwards.

"Well, I think it's an answer to both of our prayers. Just this morning I was asking for simply one parishioner, or even just one confession, and it seems he answered not only _my_ prayers, but yours as well," he said, smiling, and placing his free hand over hers, so that her hand was resting between both of his.

She smiled.

He held her hand for a moment longer and then seemed to notice what he was doing and carefully pulled back.

"So," he said, starting up an actual conversation. "Where were you born?"

She gave him a smile.

"Well, I was born in the middle of horse country, in Lexington, Kentucky, but I've been moving around most of my life. My mom died when I was three, you see, so I've been following my father around the world. He inspected M.A.S.H units for a living."

Father Mulcahy smiled.

"That sounds fascinating, Major."

She shook her head as he said this and corrected him gently, saying, "Please Father, call me Liz. No need to stand on formality."

He nodded and replied, "Well, then, if that's the case, _Liz_, then I insist that outside of Mass that you call me John."

Elizabeth smiled and then took a bite of her food, not noticing the taste that lingered too long on the back of her tongue and they shared a quiet moment, one in which she took a long look at the man that was the chaplain for the humble M.A.S.H unit that she was going to be calling home for the foreseeable future.

His hat was off, so she could see that he had dirty blonde hair, reminding her of the grass in Korea in the late summers that she had spent there, and his eyes were a startling shade of blue that took her off guard. Even through his glasses, she could see that they were nice eyes and she flitted her gaze back at her food for a moment, and then looked back up at him, noticing that his short-sleeved black shirt did nothing to hide the fact that he quite firm biceps.

A boxer. He had to be.

Finally, after a long moment she said, "So…_John_…do you box?"

He looked at her in surprise, but down his cup of coffee and nodded, folding his arms in front of him, unintentionally showing off his nicely toned arms.

"Yes, yes I do. In fact," he added, a reminiscing smile on his face, "I used to coach boxing at the CYO. We took the championship in our district four years in a row." He smile broadened even more as he added, "They were a great group of boys."

Liz smiled.

"I bet they were."

She paused for a moment to take a bite of her food…and hit something hard. Making a face, she covered her mouth and carefully removed it from her teeth, her appetite suddenly gone. Father Mulcahy saw this and he held back a smile, knowing that she had probably encountered one of their unidentified-feasting-objects.

She wiped her mouth and then asked, "Where are you from, John?"

He seemed surprised at her question, as his hand that had been lifting the coffee to his mouth stopped mid-transit, and he slowly put it back down.

"I'm from Philadelphia, actually. It's a great place for finding lost souls," he answered, a quirky smile appearing on the corner of his lips, and it made her smile as well.

"How'd you end up in Korea?"

He shrugged and said, "You know, I'm still not entirely sure about that, but I know that it's a good experience for me. A humbling experience, of course, and yet an empowering one at the same time. Altogether, an interesting one, to say the least."

Liz nodded.

"I know what you mean."

There was another brief silence between them, and then he said, "Well, I must be going then, Major. It seems I get to give a sermon after all."

She nodded.

"Of course, Father."

He left the Mess tent, both of them feeling a profound sense of belonging for the first time in many months. Finally, John Patrick Francis Mulcahy had found someone who was in need of his help and his guidance as a messenger of the Lord, and, finally, Liz had found a chaplain who gave her no feelings of overwhelming guilt…but of course, he still didn't really know her.

She stared at his retreating form and wondered if he would change his mind once he knew what she was really like.

She silently prayed that he didn't.

* * *

><p><strong>Part 2?**


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

Elizabeth woke up slowly the next morning, vaguely aware of the fact that someone had yelled, "Choppers!", and she groggily pulled her pants and shirt on, shaking her head and clearing it of the cobwebs of sleep as best as she could. She was about to have her first OR session close to the front.

Twelve hours later she was _still_ in the Operating Room, elbow deep in the belly of a young man no more than eighteen years old, attempting to pull out all of the shrapnel that he'd been insulted with.

All of her previous wounded had been simple and to the point, but this one was pushing her skills.

It was called meatball surgery for a reason, and for the first time during those twelve hours, she felt inadequate.

She _knew_ that there were, at the _most_, three more pieces in there. She had already pulled out more than fifteen pieces and they had varied dramatically in size; the largest one that she'd pulled out so far was the size of a golf ball, the smallest one the size of her fingernail…but she didn't know what to expect from the next few fragments.

Her fingers brushed against one of the pieces and she pulled it out, and then went back in. The second to last piece came out easily as well, but she struggled to find the last piece.

"Dammit," she muttered under her breath. "Where are you?"

"Right here, Major," said Hawkeye, who was one table over. "But I'm more than willing to come over there and make the two of us be in one place," he added, and she didn't even have to look at him to hear the eyebrow raise and leer.

"If I weren't in the process of trying to save this kid's life, Captain, I'm certain that I would have a good retort to that, but as it is, I'm a little bit busy," she groused out, straining her fingers, trying to find where the metal fragment was hiding in the young man's gut. She had to find it in order to make sure that he survived.

She continued to search for nearly five minutes and felt herself reaching a desperation so profound that she was nearly in tears.

The Major bit her tongue, holding her tears back only through sheer stubbornness, determined to not let anyone see her cry on her first time in the OR.

Discreetly, she sniffed, completely unaware of the fact that Father Mulcahy noticed the small sound, as well as the watery glimmer in her eyes that hinted at her true frustration.

"Goddammit," she muttered, yet again. "Where the _hell_ are you?"

Seeing how upset she was, the Father walked over to her and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and then said to her, quietly, just for her ears alone, "Just relax, my child. The Lord knows your hands and he knows that you're doing your best."

Her arm dropped slightly at the pressure of his hand on her shoulder, the tension in her neck easing slightly…and her fingers brushed against something solid.

"Father," she whispered, "Don't move your hand."

"What…?"

"Just…trust me on this."

He did as she said, and kept his hand firmly on her shoulder and she used the weight of his hand to guide her fingers around the piece that had been lodged just above his diaphragm, but had also clung slightly to the outer lining of his stomach, which was why she hadn't been able to find it on her previous attempts.

Once she had it firmly in her grip, she gently tugged it loose.

When she pulled it out, she stared it for a moment before dropping it into the pan, where it hit with a soft, metallic _plink_. Liz let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank the Lord…"

She looked over her shoulder at the Father and added, "And you, Father."

Even though he wore a surgical mask over his face, she could see the smile by how it reached his eyes, and he simply said, "The Lord works in mysterious ways."

He couldn't see her mouth, either, for the same reason, but he, too, could see her smile in the same way that she had seen his, and he gave her a brief nod, and then walked away, heading over to check on the other patients as they were being operated on.

She looked at the Father as he walked away and felt a strength and peace return to her that she hadn't felt in a long time.

It was nice to have a link to the divine again and having it so close and having someone who was more than willing to lend an ear or a shoulder was a blessing to her.

After what she had been through in the past seven years…well, she needed it.

Liz focused once more on the patient and quickly sewed him up, trading a few remarks with BJ and the Colonel as she closed the boy in front of her. Her eyes, though they were focused on the stitching, kept on discreetly glancing in the direction of Father Mulcahy, and she finally made up her mind.

One casualty later, they were finished with their grueling OR session, and she groaned as she sat down on the bench in the washroom, not quite able to believe that she'd been standing for nearly thirteen hours straight.

"If I fall asleep here," she muttered, "Don't move me. It'll be the best rest I've ever had."

The Colonel chuckled at that and as he pulled off his operating room whites he said, "Probably, but your back will hate you for it in a few hours. It's best if you find a bed, trust me on that."

At hearing this, Hawkeye couldn't help but flash her a devilish smile and add, "And my bed's always open, Major."

Liz looked up at him and rolled her eyes, moving to take off her own whites, feeling her stomach growl. She didn't bother to respond to his jab, too worn out to match wits with the surgeon, and as she shed the clothes that were covered with the blood of too many young soldiers, her thoughts wandered back to the Father. She needed to talk to him, and soon, before she lost the resolve that had hardened for her earlier. She didn't know how long it would last.

"If you'll excuse me," she said, raising a hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn, "I am going to go get some food, a shower, and some sleep; preferably in that order."

"Amen to that," replied Captain Hunnicut.

Liz smiled when BJ then offered his arm to her and she gladly took it, leaning into the six-foot-four man as they walked across the compound to the Mess tent, her legs barely working. She was truly tired, and she knew that unless she got some food into her now, it might be hours before she got around to it.

BJ escorted her to a table and then said, "How about I get us both some food? You look dead on your feet."

She grumbled out a reply and he responded with, "I'll take that as a 'Yes, please.'" and went off to the line, grabbing two trays instead of one.

From where she had her head rested on the table on top of her folded arms, she looked around the Mess tent, trying to figure out exactly what time it was…hell, what day it was even. She wasn't sure if she'd entirely bypassed Monday or not. There was a distinct possibility that it could be a Tuesday. It felt like a Tuesday, but she wasn't entirely sure if it was. Tuesdays could fool you, and sometimes they were really Mondays, or even Wednesdays.

She then saw Father Mulcahy enter the tent, his hat slightly askew, and she managed to get up enough energy to wave him over.

"Over here, John…"

Seeing her invitation, he sat down next to her, an amused smile gracing his features.

"Tired, Major?"

She let out an unladylike snort and said, "What was your first clue, John? And please," she added wearily, "Call me Liz."

"Of course, Major," he said, the smile still lingering on his lips, removing his hat with one hand and then gesturing with it. "You certainly look beat."

She nodded, and then slowly lifted her head from her arms and tried to school her expression into one that seemed less zombie-like into one that was more awake. For a brief moment, she wondered if it was even worth the effort, but then BJ approached the two of them, two trays full of food.

"Thank God," she breathed out as he put the tray in front of her.

She took a large, ravenous bite and ignored the identical looks that came from the both of them. Never before had army food tasted so good to her.

After several minutes of eating, during which Father Mulcahy got up and got a cup of coffee, she finally paused long enough to say, "Okay…time for a shower, now. I think I can stand for that much longer."

Both of her companions chuckled and she slowly stood.

Just as she was about to leave the table, she remembered that she needed to talk to the Father, and she moved over to his side and said, just low enough for him to hear, "John…is it okay if I come by later for Confession? It's been a while, you see, and I was hoping that I could-"

He cut her off with a smile and a nod of his head.

"Say no more, it's not a problem. Of course you can come by! It's what I'm here for, after all," he added, giving her a look, and she smiled.

"Good. See you then…Father."

He nodded and she left the Mess, weaving her way towards her tent, praying that she didn't fall asleep before she got to the shower.

* * *

><p><strong>Part 3?**


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

Major Elizabeth Camden stood in the shower, barely able to keep her head up, the hot water lulling her into an even sleepier state, and she was afraid that she just might fall asleep on her feet. However, she managed to keep her eyes open just enough to grab her bar of soap and clean herself off, the faint hint of flowers in the soap causing a small smile to appear on her lips.

The smell reminded her of springtime…in _every_ country that she'd been in.

But even though she wanted to linger in it, she knew that if she was going to get any sleep she would have to finish her shower sooner rather than later.

Groaning, she stopped the flow of the water and then blindly reached for her towel, a soft sigh escaping her as her fingers gripped the nubby material.

Quickly, Liz wrapped the plain white towel around her torso, knotting it as best as she could. She'd never quite gotten the hang of making those sorts of knots; they always came loose on her, causing her towel to slip off her far too easily, and had nearly caused several almost mortifying encounters with her father over the years.

She stepped out of the shower and grabbed her smaller towel and ran it through her hair, making sure that it didn't drip as she walked back across the compound.

After slipping her sandals back on, she then reached up for her robe…and then realized that in her exhausted and distracted state she had completely forgotten it. It was still sitting in her tent on the end of her bed.

She closed her eyes, trying to wish the moment away, but it stayed.

Great, just great.

She was going to have to make her way back to her tent and pray that her towel didn't try to slip off of her at an unfortunate moment.

Cautiously, she stuck her head out and looked over the camp. It was mid-afternoon, nearing four-thirty, and lucky enough for her, the traffic was down to a minimum. After looking over the route to her tent and making sure that it was clear for her to go, she secured her bar of soap and second small towel…and then bolted.

Feeling practically naked, Liz raced towards her army-commissioned quarters, praying that God would keep her unseen by anyone of the male persuasion.

She glanced behind herself, briefly, to make sure that no one had seen her…

…and then felt herself run into someone. A very _solid_ someone. And tall, too, because without even looking, she knew that her hand, which was up at her chest holding her towel tightly closed, only hit around mid-chest. Obviously male.

Silently, she now prayed that it was BJ Hunnicut. She could deal with him, of that she was certain.

She turned her head around…and wanted to shoot herself on the spot. It was none other than Hawkeye. He looked down at her, an unholy gleam in his eye, and he said, "Why, Major, if you wanted to me to join you in the shower, you should have just asked."

Liz put her free hand to his chest, the one that wasn't already desperately trying to preserve her dignity, and used it as leverage to push herself away from him.

"You touch me, you lose the hand," she threatened, raising an eyebrow, and he feigned innocence.

"I only meant it as a complement, Major! By the way," he added, casting a look down at her barely covered and still slightly dripping wet form, "Might I say that you have absolutely _lovely_ legs, Elizabeth?"

His eyes still twinkled.

She pulled her hand away as if burned by his words and his look, and stepped back from him, forcing even more distance between the two of them. She then cast her eyes around and, seeing that no one else happened to be out, glared at him and said in a loud whisper, "My legs are none of your business, Captain!" and then ran the rest of the way to her tent.

As soon as she was inside, she grabbed her robe and wrapped it around her tightly, still feeling his eyes on her.

Hawkeye Pierce was _not_ an unattractive man; on the contrary, he was a _very_ attractive man, and that was why his approval bothered her so much. It was someone like him who'd gotten her into her spiritual spiral downwards, in the first place, and she had no desire to relive the experience.

Being so close to him had stirred up feelings that she thought that she had long suppressed and it bothered her.

Shivering, more from the feelings than from the chill in the tent, she rubbed her hands over her arms and then reached for a clean change of clothes.

At first, she reached for her usual green khaki and off-white shirt, but then remembered that she wanted to sleep.

With that in mind, she pulled on a pair of army green boxers and a gray t-shirt, with Loyola in red letters across the front of it. She looked at the shirt with fondness, noticing that the letters were starting to fade slightly after being worn into submission for nearly five years.

Liz then felt the exhaustion taking her over and she looked at her watch, trying to decide if she had enough time to sleep, and decided that, yes, she did have the time. Besides, she needed the sleep. Without even bothering to get under the blanket, she lay down on top of her cot, briefly remembering that she had promised Father Mulcahy that she would be stopping by for confession later on that day, which meant that she would have a chance to talk about her situation with him.

Feeling relieved at that thought, she felt herself finally relax enough to fall asleep.

Sleep. That was all she needed.

Then everything would be fine.

* * *

><p>Father Mulcahy left the Mess tent several minutes after Major Camden, and went back to his quarters with his several thoughts on his mind, the first of which was the fact that he was actually going to be able to take someone's confession. Though it was a small thing to many other chaplains, when you were in the middle of a war zone, not many people actually ever <em>confessed<em> to anything, so it felt good that he was able to have the chance to give someone absolution in a time of trial and so much suffering.

As soon as he entered his tent, he took off his hat and reached for his rosary, which he had inadvertently left in his tent before going into the OR nearly thirteen hours earlier.

He thumbed the beads in his left hand as he sat down at his desk and wrote a few more lines in a letter that he had started writing to his sister early on Sunday morning, before he'd gone to his first mass alone.

After a few lines, he looked at what he had written…and saw that it had turned nonsensical. His mind was truly somewhere else.

Realizing that he wasn't focused, he looked up and gave a small nod, and then left his desk and went and knelt down next to his cot.

He clasped his hands together, his rosary clutched tightly between his palms, and closed his eyes and offered up a prayer.

"Dear Lord, first I would like to thank you for answering my prayer so quickly and adeptly, and I would also like to thank you for answering Elizabeth's prayer…that is, Major Camden's prayer." He paused for a moment, and then continued. "I also would like to thank you for giving me an opportunity to have someone here who shares my faith. I know that religion probably doesn't particularly matter to you, so long as they're trying to live a righteous life, but I'm glad that you recognize that it matters to me, so thank you. In Christ's name, Amen."

He opened his eyes and then stood, only to move to sit down on his cot.

The prayer had steadied him and made him feel more at peace than he had felt in a very long time.

Suddenly having a surge of energy, he stood up and moved to his desk, scratching out the last two lines that he'd put down in his letter, and took no time at all to finish it.

After a few minutes, he heard a sound outside and went to his door to investigate, as it sounded like an altercation of some sort…and felt his jaw nearly hit the ground as he saw Major Elizabeth Camden wearing nothing but a towel that barely covered her still damp skin and hair standing in front of Hawkeye Pierce, her hand on his chest.

He couldn't hear what was said, but he saw her hand suddenly snap back, her eyes go hard, and then watched with a bit too much interest as she ran over to her tent.

He then watched as Hawkeye cast a glance to the Major's tent, a very recognizable look in his eye.

And, for some reason that the Father couldn't comprehend, it bothered him. And not just in the usual disapproving way, but in a more personal way.

In the brief time that he'd interacted with the young woman, he'd felt that they had become friends, and he saw that his feelings ran more towards her own well-being, as well, and he wondered at the fact that he was worrying about her more than he probably should, but brushed it off and closed his door, sitting down at his desk once more.

He thought about the feeling that had arisen, curious as to why it had never happened before with any of the nurses that he'd seen Hawkeye go after…but then brushed it off, yet again.

She was a friend and he was worried about her and that was all there was to it.

Satisfied, and ignoring the other feeling that lingered in the back of his mind without a name, he opened his Bible and began his evening study.

* * *

><p><strong>Part 4?**


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

Elizabeth slowly woke up…and groaned when she saw what time it was. It was only eight o' clock in the evening. That meant that she'd only been asleep for a little over three hours. Not nearly enough sleep to keep her functioning on any proper level. However, her body seemed rested, even if her mind wasn't, so she resigned herself to the fact that she was going to be getting up.

As soon as she was back in her greens, she felt significantly better and much more level headed, her mind clearing up a bit more than she expected it to.

She slipped her dog tags over her neck and slid her cross back on, as well, tucking it once more beneath the collar of her shirt.

As her fingers brushed the metal, she remembered that she had to talk to Father Mulcahy.

A fond smile crossed her lips as she thought of the sandy-haired chaplain; he was truly one of the nicest people that she'd ever met, and someone that she could easily consider a friend, even though she'd only known him for only about a day. Easy to talk to and always willing to listen, he was someone that she felt that she could trust.

She stepped out onto the compound and as she walked towards the Father's tent she nearly ran into a man on guard duty…who was wearing a green cocktail dress.

"Halt! Who goes there?" he asked, brandishing his rifle, and as she looked him over a second time she could see that he also wore black heels.

"Uh…it's Major Camden," she replied, confusion in her tone at the sight before her.

He leaned in, a scrutinizing look on his Hungarian features, and she instinctively pulled back from him. He gave her a once over, his eyes and stance unwavering, and then said, "How do I know that it's really you? Suppose you're really a North Korean in disguise!"

Liz gaped, unsure of how to respond, but then heard an unfamiliar voice say, "Klinger! Leave the Major alone or I'll report you to the Colonel for harassment!"

The corporal glared.

"I'd like to see you try, nancy boy!"

And with that, he _literally_ flounced away, waving his rifle like a ninny as his knees came up high in the air, while she continued to stare in shock.

Curious to see who had spoken, she turned her head and saw a slightly rotund man approach her. He was balding and seemed to hold himself in a way that implied that he thought he was above everything that was around him. She was familiar with the type.

"Major Camden, so pleased to finally make your acquaintance," he said, gingerly raising a hand towards her. "I'm Major Winchester."

She shook his hand absently, her mind still trying to wrap around what she had just seen, and then said, "Pleased to meet you, Major," but as she shook his hand she could see the look that appeared on his face and knew it instantly to be condescending and patronizing, and she knew what was about to come next, and inwardly braced herself for it.

"So, _Major_…" Just from the way he said her title, she could hear his contempt for her. "How is someone so, uh, _young_, already a surgeon? And, pardon me for asking, why are you here at the_ front_? I'm surprised that they would send someone of your, uh, _nature_, so close to battle."

His Brahmin Bostonian accent made his tone sound even worse and she bristled, trying not to react in any way that would offend him. She had been dealing with this ever since med school and she'd had to learn how to bite her tongue and keep herself in check. She had been certain that she was going to get this at some point, and had been expecting it from Captain Pierce, but so far he'd simply propositioned her, which was, in its own way, trying to knock her down a few pegs by implying that she was still just another pretty face and didn't belong where she was.

Liz looked up at the Major and managed to force a small smile onto her lips.

"To answer your first question, I went to medical school, Major, just like you. I just started a bit earlier than most." She paused for a moment, swallowing back the million retorts that were desperate to be flung from her tip of her tongue, and then said, "And to answer your second question, I requested it."

He gave her a look, obviously not believing her, and said, "You must have friends in high places to have been even _considered_ for combat surgery."

She felt her cheeks flushing a dark red.

She was about to calmly answer, but then he pushed it a bit further and added, "Daddy pulled a few strings, eh?", and she snapped.

"My father passed away twelve years ago," she hissed with a clenched jaw, staring up at him, dimly aware of the fact that he, too, towered over her, but she spoke up anyway, fighting the label that she knew was being placed on her. "I am here on my own damn merit, and I will not be talked down to like I'm some sort of misplaced housewife that should be in a white house with a picket fence waiting for her soldier to come home!"

As soon as the words left her lips, she knew that she had done the wrong thing, as he swelled up and said in an accent thicker than before, "How _dare_ you! You may be a Major such as myself, but I will report you for insubordination!"

Liz knew that she shouldn't say anything more, but her mouth moved before her mind could catch up, echoing the words that the corporal had spoken only a minute earlier.

"I'd like to see you try."

He glared at her and then turned on his heel, heading straight for the Colonel's tent, and she inwardly cringed. There went her time with the 4077th.

It was her own fault, yet again, but what could she expect? She had tried being a surgeon back at home, but they wouldn't allow a woman on the hospital staff as a full-time surgeon. They said that it simply wasn't possible, and that she would have to settle for being Head Nurse, but she had turned them down.

She had not gone to medical school for nine years to simply have her doctorate degree ignored. Oh, it was alright if you had a doctorate on paper, and they allowed you to have the academic fulfillment, but dare to try and use it for the purpose that it was meant for, to actually _be_ a surgeon, then you were laughed at. At least, if you were a _woman_. And that was what bothered her so much and what really got under her skin.

Her father had taught her that she should strive for her dreams whenever possible, and she had, and when he'd passed on in her first year of medical school, instead of devastating her, it had somehow hardened her resolve to be the person that he'd always wanted her to be.

With that on her mind, Liz turned and headed once more for the Father's tent, but just as she arrived, she glanced back over her shoulder at the Colonel's tent.

Well, it had been fun for the day that it had lasted.

She turned her head back around and knocked on the Father's door.

"Come in," said a voice from within, and she did, and as soon as she walked in, her heart, which had fallen to the level of her toes, lifted the moment that she saw the chaplain's smiling face.

"Major! So glad to see you," he said with ringing sincerity in his voice, standing from where he'd been sitting at his desk, reaching for her hand.

They shook hands and he motioned for her to take a seat, pulling out a chair from the side that he had specifically in there for the purpose of taking confessions. She could tell that it had been rarely used as she sat down, and she felt her heart go out to him. He must have felt nearly as useless as she did. A chaplain in the army was about as much use as a female surgeon in the army.

She was quiet for a long moment, and he looked at her, his brow furrowing as he saw her countenance darken.

He waited patiently, knowing that she would speak when she needed to, and he sent up a silent prayer that she would open up to him. He truly wanted to help her.

Finally, she said, "Father…I would like you to take my confession."

He nodded.

"Of course, my child. That is what I am here for," he said, reaching up and grabbing his purple sash, called a stole, and slipping it over his shoulders, giving her a fervent look, hoping that he could help to ease her burden and absolve her of anything that she felt that she'd done wrong.

She gave him a hesitant look and asked, "May I start?"

He nodded.

Liz let out a long sigh, and then began.

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned," she started, trying to keep to an opening phrase that was comfortable for her. "I suppose I should start with the most recent. Recently, I lost my temper and spoke words that I shouldn't have. Normally, I can control it, but this time it may have cost me too much. Quite possibly, my position here at the 4077th." She paused, looking down at the floor of the tent, not noticing the look of surprise on Father Mulcahy's face. "I have also entertained certain…inappropriate…thoughts about a recent acquaintance. That, in particular, is a problem for me."

He said nothing for a moment and then said, "That is understandable, my child. You are a young woman in an unusual situation being forced to associate closely with mostly men, as you are also a surgeon. It can be easy to be tempted, and also fairly easy to lose one's temper. I have done so myself a time or two, but the Lord forgives those who seek true forgiveness, after all."

She nodded in agreement, slightly surprised that he was letting her off so lightly.

"Well I do seek true forgiveness, Father. I really do."

He gave her a soft smile and said, "Well then, in that case, I say you are absolved of any wrongs that you think you might have done in the eyes of the Lord."

He then moved his hand in the sign of the cross, and she followed suit, suddenly grateful for the fact that she'd had the opportunity to have Confession once more. It had been quite a long time for her; several weeks, actually, and she felt a wave of relief wash over her.

"Thank you, Father."

He just smiled and nodded, and she pulled back from where she had been leaning forward, her elbows on her knees and returned his smile. He was easy to talk to; in fact, he was the first priest that she'd ever been able to talk to without feeling as though she'd committed an irreversible sin.

She then stood up to leave, watching from the corner of her eye as he put his stole back on the peg, and then asked him, completely forgetting the fact that she wanted nothing more than to sleep, "Since I'm no longer in the confessional…_John_…" She emphasized her use of his first name and he smiled. "I was wondering if you'd care to escort me to the Officer's Club?"

He looked slightly surprised by her request, but then nodded and said, "Of course, Major…I mean," he gently corrected himself, grabbing his jacket and his hat, "Elizabeth."

She smiled and then she, herself, was surprised when he then offered his arm to her, but she gladly took it, and they walked out of his tent that way, her left hand tucked just under his elbow, and then he said, "My, I do hope I don't get in trouble for offering my arm to someone who outranks me," and she laughed, throwing her head in back, surprised a second time by how easily he was able to poke fun at his own expense.

* * *

><p>Neither of them noticed a pair of blue eyes focused on them from the relative anonymity of a tent in the center of camp.<p>

Hawkeye saw her throw her head back and laugh at something that Father Mulcahy had said, and his eyes zeroed in on the fact that her hand was wrapped firmly around the Father's forearm, in a way that was too intimate for a woman to be touching a chaplain. However, the man of the cloth didn't seem to notice.

Had it been one of the nurses holding the Father's arm, he would have been rooting for the chaplain the whole way; it wouldn't hurt him and just might make him a bit more than happy…but it wasn't a nurse.

It was a Major.

But that wasn't the part the bothered him. What bothered him was what she _was_.

She was a surgeon. A _female_ surgeon.

It got to him more than it should have, and he was very much aware of that. He was all for equal rights…so long as it didn't disrupt his little corner of the war, of course. However, the situation had been slowly nagging him at the back of his thoughts. A female surgeon…who out_ranked_ him, at that, seemed to be more interested in befriending a chaplain than in spending time with him. But, of course, he wasn't entirely sure that he could have handled being around someone who was so…_similar_ to him.

He watched them walk into the Officer's Club and decided to shrug it off.

No point in worrying about it. She was Father Mulcahy's problem, not his.

Glad to have finally sorted it out in his head, he rolled over on his bed and reached for his forgotten drink. Happy hour was every hour in Korea, after all.

* * *

><p><strong>Part 5?**


	6. Chapter 6

**6**

As they entered the makeshift bar, Father Mulcahy escorted Liz to a table and they sat across from each other, leaving an empty seat between the two of them and then disappeared to grab two drinks.

When he came back, she was about to politely turn down the drink…but when she saw that he'd grabbed a non-alcoholic beverage, placing a soda water in front of her, she looked up at him, her eyes sparking with curiosity and confusion at the same time.

"How'd you know that I don't drink?"

He gave her an almost sheepish look and then replied in an almost sly tone, "Well, I couldn't help but notice that you never mentioned a stiff drink on your list of things to do when you left the OR, which is usually on most of the doctors' and nurses' to-do list after a shift like that, and, because of your religious background, I took a wild guess."

She smiled and took a sip of her drink and then said, "Well, then…good guess."

He smiled in return and they enjoyed a moment of comfortable silence.

After a few brief seconds, he said, "I am curious about something, Major…"

"Liz," she gently corrected him.

"Liz. Right. Sorry. I am curious about something, _Liz,"_ he amended, and then continued. "I was wondering how you became a surgeon? It seems a bit, well…"

He paused, and she could tell that he was trying to find a diplomatic way of saying that women weren't supposed to become surgeons, let alone have doctorates, and she saved him, not wanting to see him any more uncomfortable than he was at that moment.

"Out of place?" she supplied, and he nodded.

"Exactly the phrase I was looking for…but, it still seems rude…"

The Major shook her head.

"No, it's not rude, because it's a legitimate question." She paused for a moment, absently turning her glass around in her hands, and then finally said, "I became a surgeon because I wanted to. It was my father's dream for me, you see; he didn't have any sons, only me, so he pushed me as hard as he would have his own son and expected only the best from me…"

Her voice faded for a moment and Father Mulcahy noted the nostalgic look on her face, tinged with the faintest hint of sadness.

"I had private tutors most of my life; we moved around too much for me to stay in one school, and he wouldn't have dreamed of sending me to boarding school. He'd always said that it was where girls learned how to empty their heads into hemlines, futures into frying pans, and their words into wells of gossip." She looked up at the Father and grinned. "He wasn't exactly popular with many of the other parents that he ever met over the years."

At that, the Father grinned as well, and threw her another question.

"So, you must have finished school _very _early to have become a surgeon so young. When did you start medical school?"

The corner of her mouth twitched.

"When I was seventeen…" He looked shocked and she chuckled and added, "I know, it takes a lot of people by surprise when I mention it. They usually all think that I'm joking about it, trying to make fun, but I swear that I'm not."

Father Mulcahy shook his head, still not quite believing it and then said, "But…you can't be more than twenty-three years old!"

Liz shook her head.

"I've always looked younger than my actual age; I turned twenty-nine nearly three months ago," she said, her smile softly fading from her lips, and then her brow furrowed slightly and her eyes went dark.

He saw her expression change and said nothing at first, knowing that she was probably reminiscing on some hard memories, and then put down his beer and reached for her hand, placing it over top of hers, trying to silently tell her that he was there to listen and not judge.

After a moment, she looked back up and said, "Sorry, John…I was just remembering my father. I lost him around this time of year…in fact, in a week it'll be the twelve year anniversary of…of his passing."

He simply nodded.

"The loss of loved one never gets easier," he finally said, drawing back his hand and wrapping it back around his beer. "If anything, time seems to make things worse, not better; our memory seems to make things sharper and more clear as each year passes."

She could tell from the way that he was speaking that he spoke from experience. She took a sip from her glass at the same time that he took a drink from his bottle, and then turned her gaze on him, trying to read his emotions, but his face was guarded. She stared for a long moment, trying to catch something from his closed-off expressions, and then finally said, "Your own father, I'm guessing? How long ago was it for you?"

He looked up at her.

"Twelve years ago, actually; the same as yours. It will be the anniversary in two months," he grimly added, and then shook his head. "I haven't thought of him in a while."

She let out a soft sigh as she said, "I'm sorry, John. I didn't mean to bring down the whole mood. I came in here to enjoy myself, after all, not to do…well…_this._"

He shook his head.

"Oh no, it's not a problem," he said, trying to reassure her. "I don't mind, honestly! It's nice to think of our loved ones now and again, and more than natural considering that we're in the middle of a war right now. It's logical that our thoughts would turn to them."

A relieved smile appeared on her face and she then took a look around the room and said, "You know, I don't think I've ever seen an Officer's Club quite like this before."

Father Mulcahy chuckled.

"Yes, well, we're not exactly what you would call _conventional_, you know."

She let out a low laugh as well.

"Yes, I can tell," she said, but then her voice trailed off as she saw the piano in the corner of the room. Her heart stopped for a moment, unsure if it was real or her imagination running wild…she hadn't been near a piano in months and her fingers ached at the just the sight of it. Slowly, she rose from her chair, her drink long forgotten, not really paying attention to what she was doing, walking over to it with her heart in her hands.

Father Mulcahy watched her as she sat down on the piano bench, her fingers reaching out and gently running over the keys.

Ahh…so she played.

Putting his beer down, he walked over to her and chuckled to himself as he saw her holding back from actually pressing down any keys.

"So, Elizabeth" he said, surprising her, her head snapping up in the direction of his voice, her eyes wide with surprise. "Do you play?"

Liz nodded and looked back down at the black and white keys and said, "Yes, I play." Her fingers gently plunked out a few simple notes and then she said, "Father insisted that I learn an instrument, so I tried a few, but the only one that I was any good at was the piano…my mother played piano…" She paused again but then said, "But it's been months since I've had the chance…I'm probably a bit rusty," but the chaplain shook his head at her weak protestation.

"Nonsense. Besides," he added, pointing to the people in the bar behind him, "I'm certain they'd love to hear someone other than myself on the piano. I only know a few songs, but I have the feeling that you know _more_ than a scant few."

Her cheeks flushed slightly and she nodded.

"Yes, I do."

He motioned to the piano and she gave him a smile…and then abruptly started a piece that she'd learned only a few years earlier, and as she played she became aware of the fact that she was hitting more than a few wrong notes and she winced. Stopping, she looked up at the Father and saw his slightly pained expression and she smiled.

"Sorry. It's, uh…been a _long_ time since I've practiced."

He nodded.

"So I've noticed."

She looked down at the keys and her hands and said, "Looks like I'll have to start practicing again. I do love playing…"

Her voice trailed slightly, and the Father saw a soft and sad look in her eyes that said more than her words actually could. It was obvious to him that her music meant quite a bit to her and he couldn't help but wonder how he could help her feel better.

He motioned towards their table with the hand that held his drink and said, "Care to sit back down, or would you like another go at it?"

Liz smiled, looked over her shoulder at the table and then looked back down at the piano.

Her smile then spread a little wider as her fingers rested on the keys a second time…and she began to play a piece that he'd never heard before, but it was achingly beautiful. It was a simple melody, nothing like the chaotic masterpiece that she'd been trying to play earlier, and her fingers found the notes effortlessly.

He watched her play for a while and then became dimly aware of the fact that the conversations that had been going on earlier were dwindling, and soon everyone was silent.

The melody ended far too soon, but when it did several people began to clap and her eyes snapped open from their' half-closed position and she looked surprised at hearing the approval from the unintended audience.

She looked up at Father Mulcahy and blushed.

"I didn't mean to do that…"

He gave her a reassuring smile and said, "Oh, I don't think anyone minded. Quite the contrary, it seems, actually…by the way," he added, determined to ask her before it slipped his mind, "What piece was that? I don't recognize it."

She hesitated for a moment, and then said, "Pater Noster…it's by Franz Liszt. It was one of my…my father's favorites."

He suddenly realized why she had been so lost in the music. The anniversary of her father's death was coming so soon, this song had probably been hard for her to play, but she had played it very nicely with what he could tell were only slightly out-of-practice hands.

He then put a hand on her shoulder and said, "Would you like to go sit back down?"

She nodded and they went and sat back at their table and after a moment, he asked her, "What was that first piece you were trying to play?"

Liz blushed furiously and said, "It's by Mussorgsky, from his collection called Pictures at an Exhibition. It's, uh, well…sort of a show-off piece. I learned it a few years ago, but it's been a while since I've played it. It's only the _fastest_ piece I've ever learned, though, not nearly the most difficult one."

He smiled and gave her a look.

"The hardest piece I ever learned on piano was Fur Elise, but it's been _ages_ since I've played any classical music. I'm not even sure that my fingers remember how to play them, any more," he added, giving her a look of embarrassment and she grinned.

"Oh, I'm sure there's a classical pianist inside of you just longing to come out," she replied, taking a sip of her soda water.

This time, he grinned, and they enjoyed the moment of being two people who simply had a shared interest in classical music.

It was a rarity, she mused to herself, to find someone who happened to have such similar interests as her own. Both were Catholic, both enjoyed good classical music, and she had a hunch that they might have even known some of the same people back in the states within the church musical community.

After a long few minutes of comfortable silence, the two of them sitting and sipping on their respective drinks, she finally spoke back up.

"So, Father, what made you decide to become a priest?"

He gave her a look and said, "Would you believe it was because I thought it was the only thing I could do with my life?"

She looked at him surprise and quickly said, "You're joking."

He shook his head and replied, "Nope. I had _five_ brothers growing up and they all took the other professions, so I thought that priest was the only thing I could do." He paused a moment, and then said, "My oldest brother, Henry, is an engineer, the second oldest, Charles, a lawyer. Then there was Tommy, who became a high school football coach, Daniel, who's an accountant, and, of course, Matthew, who is a…well, a _shoe_ salesman."

She looked at him in surprise and said, "_Five_ brothers? Well, you certainly had a lot to live up to…"

He nodded.

"Yes, I most _certainly_ did," he said, taking a sip of his drink. "I then have my younger sister who is…well, a Sister."

She picked up on his tone and said, "You mean, she became a nun?"

He nodded.

"Yes, and she coaches the girls' basketball team at St. Mary's Preparatory School for Girls. She has one heck of a jump shot," he added, and she smiled and then he asked, "What about you? Did you ever want to be anything but a surgeon?"

She nodded.

"Yes. I wanted to be a concert pianist…like my mother. I don't really remember her, actually," she said, absently stirring the ice in her drink with a finger, and then added, "But the few memories I _do_ have, are of me sitting on her lap or next to her on the bench as she played piano. I remember watching her hands on the keys…"

Liz paused for a long moment and then shook her head.

"I always wanted to be just like her."

He nodded and smiled. He knew what that was like. He'd always wanted to be just like his parents, as well.

She suddenly stood up and said, "I, um, I think I'll take a walk. I need to clear my head. Do you mind if…?" She gestured to him, indicating that she might want him to come, but he shook his head and said, "You should go. Have some time to yourself."

Liz nodded.

"Thanks, John."

And with that, she left the Officer's Club, her mind somewhere else entirely as she thought of parents that were long since gone.

John was right.

She needed some time to herself.

* * *

><p><strong>Part 6?**


	7. Chapter 7

**7**

Liz wandered absently around the compound until she found herself at Post-Op, and she walked in, wondering how her patient with that shrapnel was faring, and smiled when she saw BJ Hunnicut down at the other end of the room, joking with one of his patients.

She made her way down and soon found her patient.

"David," she said, sitting on the edge of his bed, his clipboard in her hand, glancing at it for a brief second before looking him over herself. "How are you feeling?"

He managed to move his head.

"Not all that great, nurse. My stomach feels like it's been hit with a truck."

She bit her lip at hearing him call her 'nurse', but decided not to say anything, not wanting to agitate him any further. He might be even more worried if he knew that a woman had operated on him; she knew more than a few people back home who felt that way.

Liz simply nodded, and then said, "Looks like your doctor did a good job at stitching you up. Well, I'll make sure you get enough pain medication, and in about a week, you'll be on your way back home."

She was always pleased when she got to send a boy home who was still in one piece and could continue to enjoy life afterwards, even if she couldn't allow herself to take any of the credit. Credit wasn't actually all that important to her; helping people was.

The kid smiled and nodded, saying, "Thanks, nurse. Tell the doc thanks for me, too. I've got a girl back at home waitin' for me and it'll sure be nice to see her again."

She nodded, again.

"Of course, David. You just rest, now, and I'll make sure you get everything you need."

She stood up as he started to nod off, and walked down to Captain Hunnicut, who had already left the bed of the young man that he'd been talking to, and she put her hand on his shoulder, grabbing his attention, and he turned around, a half-smile on his face.

"Hello, Major. What brings you to the Post-Op Ward?"

She discreetly pointed down at her now sleeping patient.

"The boy that I pulled all that shrapnel out of, Private David Smith."

"Ah, mister silent. Yes, I tried to talk to him earlier, but he seemed to only want to talk with the pretty nurses. How'd you get him to talk?" Liz gave him a look, and a look of comprehension came over him. "Ah, I see. He thought that you were…?"

She nodded.

"Yes…and I didn't feel the need to correct him. I don't think he would have taken well to knowing that I was the one who operated on him. Most people don't."

BJ gave her a reassuring smile and put his arm over her shoulders as they walked together out of Post-Op and said, "Well, if it were _me_, I wouldn't mind one bit. I saw how hard you worked to save him, and you seem more than capable in holding your own against people like…well, let's just say Hawkeye never makes it easy on the newbies."

She let out a small laugh.

"Thank you, BJ."

He squeezed her shoulders gently and said, "Anytime."

They continued to walk aimlessly for a moment longer, and then he said, "So, you seem to have something on your mind. Care to talk about it?" Liz shook her head, but BJ gently pushed, saying, "Around here, I wouldn't recommend bottling things up. Whatever it is, it usually helps to get it out in the open before it explodes at an inopportune moment. Like, perhaps, with Major Winchester earlier…?"

They stopped walking and she looked up at him in shock as he pulled his arm from her shoulders and gave her a pointed look, one eyebrow arched.

"How…how do you know about that?"

BJ let out a small chuckle.

"Well, I _do_ share a tent with the man, and his grumblings weren't all that hard to figure out. Apparently, you were, in _his_ words, not mine, insubordinate?" She said nothing, but was pleased when BJ said, "I didn't think that was even possible, what with both of you being Majors and all."

Liz managed a small smile at that, and so BJ nudged one more time.

"Really, Liz. What's on your mind?"

She shrugged, but at seeing his pointed look a second time, she caved in.

"The anniversary of my father's death is coming up soon and I can't seem to shake this depression that I've been feeling. It's…well, it seems a bit more overwhelming than it's been in previous years." She paused and then let out a long sigh and added, "_And_…well, I've been missing my mother, as well. I never really knew her, but out here, so close to the front, my thoughts keep on going to her and I'm not entirely sure why…"

He stopped walking and put a hand on her shoulder, causing her to do the same, and he gave her a long look, and then said, "Liz, this is normal. Trust me. You feel your losses a bit more acutely the closer you are to the war. Whenever I get too much alone time, my thoughts always go to my _own_ father, who I lost about three years ago."

She looked him straight in the eye, hoping he wasn't just humoring her, and she saw no deceit.

"So…it's not just me, then?"

BJ smiled and shook his head.

"No. It's not just you."

Feeling reassured, she turned and began walking again, BJ doing the same, their shoulders nearly touching as they walked. They stayed quiet for a long while, simply enjoying the silence, and then BJ said, "Have you gotten into the betting pool, yet?"

Liz arched an eyebrow.

"Betting pool?"

BJ nodded.

"Yep. We have one going for what stunt Klinger will pull next on trying to get his Section 8." She smiled and said, "Oh you mean the Corporal who does guard duty in the cocktail dress and heels?" He nodded, and she let out a small laugh and replied with, "Well, I'll put down five dollars on wearing a garter belt to the mess tent."

He smiled and said, "Five dollars on the garter. Copy that."

He then split off from her and she smiled at him fondly as she walked back to his tent.

BJ was certainly different from most of the men here at the 4077th. He seemed perfectly fine with the fact that she was a surgeon and didn't seem to have a sexist bone in his body, which made her feel so much more at ease around him. He almost reminded her of her father in certain ways, which made her even more comfortable around him.

She headed back towards the mess tent, her head clear and her heart feeling significantly less heavy than before. Having someone on her side made her feel remarkably less alone and much more capable. She knew that she was a good surgeon and an even better doctor, but it was men like Hawkeye and Major Winchester that made her doubt her own abilities. Liz frequently felt ostracized because of her quick mind and sharp wit, and often felt as though she had been born in the wrong time.

As she stepped inside and got in line for food, grabbing an empty tray, Liz thought over what she might do to change some minds around camp about her position as a M.A.S.H unit surgeon.

She wanted to be a part of a _team_, and not continually feel as if she was being excluded. Hell, from what she'd seen so far, Major Margaret Houlihan got significantly more respect than she did, and she was only Head Nurse. Not that it wasn't an important position, but Liz couldn't help but feel slighted at the discrepancy.

Letting out a sigh, she took her filled tray to an empty table…and then realized what the problem was.

By being a female surgeon, she was, by default, always going to be an outsider to anyone who thought that she didn't belong in her position. Mind you she hadn't had the opportunity to talk to Margaret Houlihan, and sincerely hoped that the woman would be on her side, but she wasn't entirely sure if she would be. All the women that Liz had met during her years in medical school had either thought she was ridiculously idealistic, or had resented her for her having the presence of mind to challenge the mold of the patriarchal run institution of medicine.

She took a few bites of her food…and was no longer hungry.

Not wanting to waste it, she set her tray down in front of Corporal O'Reilly, who she knew ate three times his weight in food, and walked out of the tent.

No use in getting worked up over it.

She mentally rolled up her sleeves and straightened her back.

She would prove that she belonged there. She would work her ass off until they realized that she had every right to be there, no matter what they thought. She was a surgeon, goddammit, and a damn good one, and she would show them that this was where she was supposed to be.

* * *

><p>BJ watched the newest Major and surgeon as she walked away to the mess tent, wondering just what was going through her mind. In truth, he was thrilled to see a woman doing such hard work. From what he'd seen, she was one hell of a surgeon and knew exactly what she was doing.<p>

However, he knew that his view was not a common one…however, Father Mulcahy seemed to be on the same side as the Captain.

BJ had been watching their interactions and couldn't help but notice just how well they got along. They had quite a bit in common, and that certainly helped, but BJ knew that she would not as readily accepted by the rest of the 4077th. He inwardly cursed at the idea. It shouldn't be that way, he thought to himself, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked back to the Swamp.

Liz was smart and funny and vivacious…well, perhaps vivacious was too strong a word. Not vivacious, but…upbeat. Yes. She was an optimist, something that was rare and hard to find in that particular corner of the war, and he applauded her for it. However, he still felt bad for the resistance that he knew that she was going to face. Colonel Potter appeared to be alright with it, but BJ had the sneaking suspicion that underneath the older man's gruff acceptance was a stinging resentment at being given a woman surgeon.

Potter wasn't a bigot, not by a long stretch, but the Captain knew that he still held on to preconceived ideals of where women were supposed to be. He respected their intelligence, but most likely thought of them as having a, well, _delicate_, constitution.

After seeing his wife give birth and deal with not only him, but also a newborn and a new house all at the same time, BJ most certainly did _not_ hold that opinion.

He respected women and the strength that they had. Margaret was a prime example of it, of course, but something about Elizabeth Camden said _true_ strength, and not just the brash bravado that the female Captain waved around like a banner or a flag of honor.

There was a quiet, steady energy about her, and BJ knew that it would help her more in the long run than any of Margaret's techniques for dealing with the stresses of war. Liz would make it, and would probably come out of it the least unscathed out of all of them. She had an attitude that spoke of endurance, of knowing the harshness of war long before her time; she was resolute and knew where she stood, morally and spiritually, and that was _exceedingly_ rare in the war.

Realizing that he'd been thinking about her longer than he'd expected, he swiped a drink from the still and sat down on the edge of his bunk.

Moments later, Hawkeye ducked into the tent and poured himself his own drink.

"Beej, what's hangin'?"

"My socks out to dry, I hope," the Captain quipped back, taking a sip of his very, very dry martini, silently wishing he had an olive to wash it down with.

Hawkeye hummed a response, taking a long sip of his own drink, and then coughed and said in a raspy voice, "Drier than I was expecting. We need to find something to wash this down with. Since olives are out of the question, how about Winchester's sweat socks? Think that might work?"

BJ let out a reluctant chuckle, not feeling the humor of the situation, and nodded.

"Sure, what the hell. Not like the man ever uses them, anyway."

Hawkeye nodded and walked over to the Major's side of the tent and began rooting around in his footlocker, and BJ shook his head.

"Never mind, Hawk. I'd rather deal with the dryness."

Hawkeye stumbled back over to his bed and drawled out, "Suit yourself," and then proceeded to down the rest of his martini in one long swig, before reaching over and pouring himself a second one, nearly draining all that they had left in their homemade still.

BJ stared at him a moment, opened his mouth…and then shut it. He _could_ ask the question that he wanted to, and find out just exactly how Hawkeye felt about Elizabeth Camden, but he decided that that was a conversation he should probably save until the man wasn't trying to actively drown himself in liquor.

It could wait.

* * *

><p><strong>Part 7?**


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